


Nicotine

by bishopsknifetrick (cherryblossomstump)



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: F/M, Songfic, Wordcount: 100-500
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 07:32:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12427929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryblossomstump/pseuds/bishopsknifetrick
Summary: Okay yes I know Ryan wasn't in Panic! when Nicotine was written. Do I care? No.Nicotine Song!fic (obviously)





	Nicotine

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally just to be able to post something while i'm working on typing up a different story

Ryan stands on the empty streets of New York forlornly, looking at the bright neon signs that seemed to directly contradict his mood. He could smell the scent of freshly fallen rain and feel the moisture on his skin. His breath still held the tendrils of smoke leftover from the cigarette he had just dropped. He pulled his jacket closer to his body and shivered.  


He looked up at his apartment building, cloaked in darkness. There were lights on in certain windows, and he could see the shadows of people dancing on the walls. Surprisingly, the walls were soundproof, and he never heard the nighttime revelries that seemed to take place. It’s not that he minded the fact that there seemed to constantly be celebration going on somewhere; with an enthusiastic dog and a current girlfriend, he was more than content with his life.  


Right. Ryan needs to stop lying to himself.  


He knows his girlfriend feels nothing for him. He knows it like the way he knows that trees are green and water is wet- he can see it. It so painfully obvious, and it hurts him every day because he knows his feelings will never be reciprocated. He still feels stupid for even considering buying a ring for her.  


Suddenly, the overwhelming urge for one of those little white sticks starts up again. He methodically pulls the little cardboard box out of the folds of his coat and digs out his lighter, flicking his fingers for the flame. He flips open the box and pulls out the little tube, holding it to the edge of the flickering fire. He takes a deep breath and blows it out again.  


A window opens and a head pops out. Long dark hair tumbles over the shoulders of a slim figure.  


It’s time to go back inside. Back to her.  


Ryan exhales again.  


She’s worse than nicotine.


End file.
